


moonlines

by queerwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwatson/pseuds/queerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Sherlock had come back from the dead, things had felt different. A soulmate AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	moonlines

**Author's Note:**

> Title credit to Pablo Neruda's Morning/Love Sonnet XXVII

Ever since Sherlock had come back from the dead, things had felt different. Not just different because it was all hard to cope with and reconcile - it was different because Sherlock was different - and Jane couldn’t quite tell why.

If it wasn’t for how inherently silly she knew it was, Jane would have wondered if something had happened with Sherlock meeting her soulmate while she’d been away - but Sherlock was Sherlock. She was brilliant and dangerously gorgeous and she spoke of matches with a dismissive casualness. All this was stuff Jane had constantly reminded herself of for years - years with and without Sherlock, glaring at the mark on her hand like it had betrayed her.

The little mark was right where her thumb met her hand, there at the crease of thumb and index finger. It was her left hand. Her dominant hand. The mark was a sort of starburst, and a little disturbingly similar to the exit wound scar on her shoulder. She’d never met anyone else who was that unfortunate, to have it somewhere so visible. It was like wearing your heart on your sleeve, having it out where anyone could see it. At times in school she’d worn a plaster over it, but everyone knew about it anyways. She couldn’t hide it all the time. Still, even in the army, or after, she had a habit of stretching her hand or curling it into a fist, moving it around often to try and distort it - to make it less obvious.

Sherlock was certainly not that unfortunate - Jane had seen an awful lot of Sherlock, patching her up, seeing her in a sheet. She’d never seen anything even resembling a mark on Sherlock’s body.

So maybe Sherlock didn’t have one. It didn’t matter. What mattered was now - how strange she’d been acting, and what the cause of it was.

Knowing subtlety wasn’t always her friend’s strong suit, Jane decided to approach her directly.

In the sitting room, Sherlock was laid out on the couch as always. Jane perched on the edge by her hip, and Sherlock pulled back a little. Jane tried not to be disappointed.

“You’ve been acting a little strangely since you came back.”

“Yes, well, it’s all a very strange situation, isn’t it? I don’t see why you’re so confused I seem to be acting strangely.”

It was clearly defensive. Jane sighed, quietly. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Turning her face into the cushion beneath her, Sherlock shook her head. Jane only just kept herself from running a hand through her hair.

“You don’t have to. I just think it might help both of us. To talk about things.”

The dark curls shifted a bit, and an eye peeked out from under them. There was a long pause, but Jane just waited, calm. “I... never thought I would meet my match. Growing up. Children used to tease me and say I’d never have one because I was so strange, eventually it became so I didn’t want to. It seemed such a hassle. I hated people, who was to say I wouldn’t hate them as well?” 

It felt a little like being shot. Still, Jane nodded, and stayed quiet.

Sherlock continued. “I noticed the mark on your hand the first moment, obviously. Incredibly visible, fairly unique in its detail, not one I’d ever seen on another person. You were also handing me your phone, so that helped I suppose. As soon as I saw it, I was... filled with dread. I agreed to move in with you as a test. I figured you’d leave as soon as anyone else, and everything would go back to normal. Except that wasn’t what happened at all.”

Could she possibly-? No. Jane’s thoughts were cut off anyhow, along with the pause.

“You stayed. You became important, you mattered, you wedged yourself into every empty crack and I could not possibly imagine getting you out again. But obviously, now I might have upset you, having kept it from you so long. And you’d be in danger. I decided against telling you. But I... Time went on, and Bart’s happened. And my time away stretched on and I thought I might not come back. Sometimes it... ached. The mark. Just to know you were here, waiting, and I could have come back if I hadn’t been so... Insistent on keeping you from harm. Which really, you were still at risk. Just... less risk that way. I came back, you were here, and everything is easing back into place, and still now it’s... worse. Because even my feeble excuse faded, and now the only thing keeping you from me is if you decide you won’t have me any longer. I’d understand.”

There was a tightness in Jane’s throat in spite of the hurried nature of Sherlock’s speech, and she swallowed it down to place a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Where is it?” she asked quietly.

Slowly, Sherlock turned over, and looked up at Jane. A moment passed, and she nodded before she pushed down the waistband of her pyjama pants, revealing the mark at the crease of her thigh. The exact same mark as Jane’s.

Holding her hand to hover over Sherlock’s skin, Jane examined every little matching detail, and in spite of all the other things she was feeling, joy flooded in and overrode all the rest. She smiled, widely, and laid down along the couch, pressing close to Sherlock and curling up against her - reveling in the smell of her, the feel of her warmth, the fact that she was alive and there and Jane’s. Finally, finally, Jane’s.

The happiness dulled to a pleased hum in her chest, and she narrowed her eyes and lifted her head to make eye contact. “You’re a tit.”

Sherlock smiled - so much for that - and pulled Jane to her chest again. “Yes, I can’t disagree, actually. I’m an idiot just as much as anyone else, and all because of this. I could have had this the night after we met, and instead I wasted nearly four years.”

“Twat.”

Beneath her, Jane could feel the responding chuckle, and it was a feeling she didn’t want to forget.

“I know. You can call me whatever you like from now on.”

With an amused huff, Jane pressed up on her elbows and brushed a kiss over Sherlock’s jaw, then pressed a dry one against her lips. “I’ll stick with Sherlock, thanks. Just hush and let’s enjoy the cuddle before one of us gets hungry.”

And so they did.

**Author's Note:**

> This took a few tries of writing, deleting, rewriting, and I'm still not totally happy with it? But, you know, femslash february and all.


End file.
